"The little girl looks like a child I saw in America," she stammered, her face flushing.
"Was she an American child?" demanded the Baroness.
"Oh, yes, Your Graciousness," said the woman hastily. "Of course, she was an American child."
"Now I know that you are speaking falsely," said the Baroness. "This little one looks like no American child who was ever born. Léon," turning to her husband, "is this one of your peasants?" Then she added in a tone too low to be heard by anyone but her husband, "I know that she can tell something about this little girl. Question her."
The Baron turned to the woman and said:
"This little girl saved your baby's life. Should you not do her some kindness?"
"What could I do for her, Your High-Born Graciousness?" the woman asked.
"That I leave to your good heart." The Baron had not dwelt upon his estates and managed his peasants for years without knowing peasant character. Threats would not move this woman, that he saw in a moment.
"She is a Gypsy child," the woman said sullenly.
Banda Bela spoke suddenly, for he had come close and heard what was said.